


Let Me Help You (Redux)

by pastasauce



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, M/M, SHIELD Husbands, Shower Sex, brief mention of Phil's new team, brief mention of burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:38:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastasauce/pseuds/pastasauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil has a rough day. Meanwhile, Clint is there is offer some tender loving care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Help You (Redux)

**Author's Note:**

> With finals just around the corner and plot bunnies that require a bit more attention than the usual, have this instead?

He doesn't come with a shout or a violent jolt. There isn't a groan that rumbles deep in his chest either. There is only the breath of a whisper like the sigh of a release held tight. It carries Clint’s name past his lips, and Phil drags his short, blunt fingernails firmly through thick, blond hair, the pads of his fingers pressing into the archer’s scalp as Phil shudders across his tongue.

Touch is everything. And in that moment he wishes he could kiss his husband too – drag chapped, day worn lips across his, and lick lazily into his mouth - messy and uncoordinated at best, but equally full of fervour. It would be his way of affection and need tonight.

The orgasm itself doesn’t run through him in harsh, demanding waves, still, Clint’s mouth is slow and precised, rocketing his heart into overdrive as he works him dry. Clint swallows where needed and coaxes where he must even as Phil's skin tingles from the aftershocks - a warm and pleasant buzz under his care. Phil finds himself wanting to keep Clint close for as long he can.

"Beautiful," he whispers affectionately, carding tender fingers through his husband's hair. Clint's meets his gaze under a delicate sweep of lashes. His dark pupils still and piercing, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colours shifting in the light. Phil just about drowns himself in their breathtaking spell.

"So beautiful," he confesses, shaky fingers skirting across Clint's cheekbones as thick eyelashes dip to fan across his cheeks. Phil presses his thumb gently against the hollow of a cheek, and the archer moans under his touch.

It's all too much.

Too soon, Clint is pulling away, and Phil whines unexpectedly against the loss. Only, Clint is there, graceful and quicker on his feet than anyone should have any right to be. He swallows Phil's displeasure with a searing kiss, and Phil gives into his needs, tasting himself on Clint's tongue as he presses closer to the solid expanse of muscle bracketing him against the dewy wall of their shared bathroom. Clint's strong hands knead into his stiff shoulders, and Phil can already feel the day's strain begin to leave his worn-out muscles.

"More," he murmurs, raking his teeth across Clint's bottom lip. Clint groans back urgently. "Anything you want," he pants into Phil's mouth. "Just say the word." Clint is breathless against him, and Phil feels a surge of pride at having caused that. He winds those strong, clever arms around his waist, and presses closer. "Just you," he demands, readily parting his lips underneath Clint's. He'll take everything Clint is willing to give.

When they pull away, heady and a little drunk on endorphins, Phil leans against Clint's chest as he reaches around to lather them up for a shower. Phil talks in slurred tones about his day, and Clint asks after the crew of 616. He isn't supposed to know they exist. Neither should he be in his husband's arms right now. Yet, here they are.

Clint for one isn't about to start looking a gift horse in the mouth. He scrubs Phil down, washing the day’s muck away while Phil regales his adventures in half muttered words and waning consciousness. He doesn't have to warn Clint against the smattering of fresh scorch marks marring his sides. Clint soothes gently over them, tender hands giving particular attention to an ugly red welt. Phil lets him; fingers light, never straying from his skin as he muzzily soaks in the rich feel of soap-slicked skin on skin; the firm ripple of muscle under his touch. Clint flexes more than necessary in his hold, and Phil shoves him halfheartedly in return. Try as he might, he loves that terrible grin anyway.

As rivulets of hot water flow over them, and the last of a weary day drains away with the currents, Phil is glad Clint is there to help him through the final hours of their day. He would have sooner tipped into bed still scorched and fully dressed than willingly step into a shower to clean himself up.

It doesn’t take much for Clint to towel him down after. He carefully dresses Phil's wounds, and when they’re both done, manhandles Phil into bed, tucking the sheets comfortably around him. Phil has sleep pulling on his consciousness the moment he sinks into their fort of pillows, but before the alluring draw of sleep surrounds him, before he slips under to chase the tales of many distant lands, he feels Clint slide in beside him, his lingering press of lips a welcoming balm against the unknown.

“Welcome home,” Clint murmurs, an arm coming to rest over Phil's middle.

 _Thanks for coming home to me,_ his unspoken words say.

Phil curls into him, their fingers threading lightly.

"Always, Clint."

**Author's Note:**

> Edited because reasons.  
> (Original posting date: 26-Apr-2013)
> 
> On a separate note: Still not over that one self-sacrificing sentient tree spewing fairy lights. Yes, that tree.


End file.
